


You don’t know what you’ve got ‘till it’s gone…

by darkmoore



Series: Betrayed trust [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmoore/pseuds/darkmoore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is AU. It's the second part after "When all is said and done" in the 'Betrayed Trust' verse. This is <b>not a happy story</b> but those of you who know me also know I always make it right in the end. So, I'll make up for it in the next part…</p><p>Thanks go, as always, to my sister Cass ("ca_pierson), who encouraged me and pushed me to get this right. Thank you, sis</p>
    </blockquote>





	You don’t know what you’ve got ‘till it’s gone…

**Author's Note:**

> This is AU. It's the second part after "When all is said and done" in the 'Betrayed Trust' verse. This is **not a happy story** but those of you who know me also know I always make it right in the end. So, I'll make up for it in the next part…
> 
> Thanks go, as always, to my sister Cass ("ca_pierson), who encouraged me and pushed me to get this right. Thank you, sis

Bobby hung up the phone and frowned. He had just finished talking to Dean and if he didn't know better, he'd have sworn Dean was insane. Or possessed. Or both. But he knew Dean was neither. He'd made sure of that right from the start. Whatever was 'wrong' with Dean since Sam had talked to him almost 10 months ago, it was nothing supernatural. Just Dean being _happy_. Incredibly happy, to be exact. Bobby had never seen Dean more content or satisfied with what he was doing. Which was weird in itself. While Dean had never rebelled against the life they were living - like Sam had done - he had viewed it as merely a necessity though. Something that needed to be done by someone and that someone happened to be him. _Happiness_ about the hunts had never been part of the equation.

Lately this had changed drastically. Since that ominous 'talk' to be exact.

When Bobby had called Sam that night after Dean had almost gotten himself killed, he had expected some serious fallout from the brother's meeting. Accusations, hurt, and guilt at the very least. Instead Sam had come back after staying with Dean for only a few hours and from that point on, Dean had simply…changed. Whatever Sam had said or done, it must have impressed Dean a great deal. But Sam was keeping stubbornly silent about the contents of that life-changing talk.

And life-changing it had been for Dean.

Just now Dean had told Bobby that he had decided against taking on a new partner after all, but was good with the decision. That he didn't think he could ever find someone he'd be as tuned in with as he had been with Sam. Dean had also told him that he had spoken to Sam again, their formerly more sporadic phone calls turning into talking twice or more a week. He said Victoria had moved in with Sam and that he was very glad Sam finally had found someone special and was happy. He insisted Sam deserved to have a normal live and the family he longed for. Bobby had just sat there with his mouth open, not knowing what to say.

All of this sounded so unlike the Dean Bobby had known before, that it had him worried. Sometimes it seemed Dean's behaviour got stranger by the day. Sure, neither holy water, nor saying 'Christo' or anything else he had tried on Dean had shown any sign at all that Dean was anything but alright. That didn't mean anything though, they might have just not found out what was going on with Dean, yet. Seeing Dean go from pretty much suicidal to outright happy had been a shock to say the least. Upon being asked, what exactly he had said to Dean that had pulled him back from the brink, Sam had stayed stubbornly silent. A fact Bobby still tried to change - more now than ever. Something just wasn't right here.

After a moment of hesitation, Bobby picked up the phone again and dialled Sam's number. Sam answered after the third ring.

"Bobby, hey, I was planning on calling you later today. What's up?" Sam greeted cheerfully and Bobby winced. He knew his next words would most likely destroy Sam's good mood.

"I just talked to Dean. He was even more … unnaturally happy than he's been lately anyway. Said Victoria moved in with you. Pretty early for such a step, don't you think?" Bobby couldn't help the sharp tone that crept into his voice.

As expected, Sam's mood sobered. "I think, what I do with my private life is none of your business," Sam replied snidely. "I finally have 'normal' and I'm happy. I'm happy with Victoria. I love her."

Something in Sam's tone of voice, in the way he said those words struck Bobby as odd. It sounded…staged. Like Sam had repeated it over and over again, trying to convince himself - and others - that it was true.

"Are you really? Happy, I mean? What about Dean? How does he fit into your new life? Is it that easy for you to leave him behind?" Bobby asked, trying to make Sam talk to him.

"It's not _easy_, Bobby. But I've made my decision - against hunting. And yes, I _am_ happy, just so you know." Sam sounded offended and angry now and Bobby growled.

"Yeah, right. Just like nothing is wrong with Dean's behaviour. If you'd only tell me…" He didn't get to finish his sentence, because Sam interrupted him.

"Bobby, don't get me started on this _again_. For the last time: what happened between me and Dean that day is private. I won't tell you anything else. You might as well give up. And before you ask, no, I do _not_ find it odd that Dean is happy for me. He's my brother and he loves me. He would want for me to have this life."

"_Would want_?" Bobby asked confusedly. That was a very odd wording Sam had chosen. As if Dean were dead or… not himself.

Sam sighed. "Goodbye, Bobby."

Stunned, Bobby stared at the phone he was still holding. Sam had hung up on him.

oooooOooooo

Dean cursed, looking down himself and at his ruined clothing. He was drenched in what looked like lime jell-o. The only difference was that the strange green goo had left acid burn-marks where it had hit his unprotected skin and was currently eating its way through the remains of his shirt. Careful to not touch any of the soiled cloth and hurt himself any further, Dean yanked his ruined shirt over his head.

"Fucking bitch," Dean murmured as he wiped away the last bits of green from his aching skin and grabbed the bottle of holy water. There was no way of telling what exactly he had been hit with, but he didn't want to take any risks. The holy water didn't do anything to his wounds. There was no smoke, no hissing sound, nothing that indicated that this was more than ordinary water and ordinary acid wounds. Just great. Whatever it had been that this bitch had kept in the bowl on her altar, Dean had never seen it before. Just like he never had seen a creature like the one he had just killed. It didn't matter now, though what she had been - she was dead now. She wouldn't go and take children from their homes any more, that much was certain.

His cell-phone rang while he was still wiping creature blood and green slime from his boots. The caller ID said it was Margaret, the witch who had sent him on this hunt.

"Margaret," he said by greeting, suppressing a wince when one of his bruised rips protested. The creature hadn't gone down without putting up one hell of a fight. When that thing had flung him into her altar, he had finally gotten the chance to stab her with a blessed blade - but not before being doused in that green goo.

"Dean, I thought I told you not to touch any of her items. Can't you listen to good advice when it's given? Whatever you did, boy, it's bad. Real bad. You need to come here as soon as possible. You're giving off vibes that attract anything evil in the rage of a hundred miles. It's like you've got a goddamn neon-light above your head saying 'come and get me'. Now, move your ass over here so I can figure out what to do about it," Margaret sounded none too pleased. Dean could just picture her, waving a wooden spoon in agitation, behaving like he was one of her children she could order around. Why wasn't he surprised she could get that bossy?

After all, Margaret hadn't been what he'd expected in the first place. She was a middle aged woman with kind blue eyes and auburn hair. When Dean had first seen her, standing in her kitchen, wearing an apron and baking cookies, he was reminded of an image out of an episode of "Little house on the prairie". But underneath that harmless façade, Dean knew she was a force to be reckoned with. That she didn't look a thing like other 'witches' he had met didn't matter, since those had mostly been bad witches to begin with.

"How do you know that?" He asked, already guessing the answer.

"Because I can feel it, idiot boy. If I can, so can _they_. Now get back here so I can fix the mess you've made. I have cookies, too," she said and hung up on Dean.

Dean grinned. No matter how old, women just loved him. And this one had just offered cookies to him - even though she would serve a lecture with them.

oooooOooooo

Half an hour later Dean sat - bare-chested but with a plate of cookies in front of him - at Margaret's kitchen table. The solemn look on the witch's face spoke volumes and Dean finally asked, "So, just how bad is it?"

"Worse than I thought," Margaret answered and rubbed her forehead in frustration. "Those burn marks are not gonna go away or heal on their own. This is powerful dark magic you've been hit with. You won't only need a purification ritual, I'm pretty sure you'll need a restoring ritual as well, to help those wounds heal. If we don't get this out of your skin it will only fester and get worse. Nothing you want to happen, believe me. I'll have to get a few things for the ritual and you should try and get some rest 'till then." She reached for a basked and her car keys, looking at him worriedly. "I have no doubt we will have unbidden guests pretty soon. Right now evil is drawn to you like a moth to the light. Go, lie down in the guestroom, upstairs," she ordered, her tone allowing no objection. "This house has much more protection than you could give any motel room in such a short time. I'll see what I can do about the ingredients for the brew I need. And the special candles. Take the cookies and a glass of milk with you," she finished, walking to the door. For once, Dean obeyed.

He had briefly considered calling Bobby to see if he could come up with any information about the green slime, but had decided against it. If he called Bobby, Sam would get to know and Dean wanted to avoid that at all costs. He didn't want for Sam to worry; and knowing his little brother, that's what would happen. Maybe Sam would even go and dig for information himself. He'd always prided himself to be good on research. But Dean didn't want that, didn't want for Sam to get involved again. This wasn't his brother's life any more. Dean could only hope Margaret wouldn't call Bobby, either as she was one of his oldest friends. _He_ had been the one to recommend Dean to her, when she had called for help. If Bobby trusted her, so would Dean. And if she said he needed this damn purification, then Dean would believe her. It was as easy as that.

Sighing, Dean took the plate with the chocolate-chip cookies and a glass of milk upstairs to the guest room. He would try and get some sleep, even though the wounds on his arms and chest were throbbing painfully. He didn't want to imagine what it would be like when they got worse.

"Damn, I fucked up royally this time," Dean muttered to himself while stripping out of his jeans and socks. He lay down on top of the covers, not wanting to put any more pressure or friction onto the burns than absolutely necessary.

As the painkillers Margaret had handed him wordlessly upon his arrival finally kicked in, Dean drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

oooooOooooo

Margaret stood in the kitchen, finishing her brew, glad that Dean was still asleep. He would need all the strength he could get, not only for the ritual - which was somewhat draining - but also for the hunt. And hunting he would go, because she'd make damn sure he got rid of the unwelcome visitors that he'd caused.

Evil was attracted to Dean right now and that was the reason why there currently was a banshee, a chimera and a demon in her garden. They had already tried to get into the house several times, but Margaret knew that her protections would hold. This wasn't the first time something supernatural had tried to get to her, but until now, every attempt had failed - and today wouldn't be any different.

Hearing a noise, Margaret looked up from the fluid she had been stirring. Dean came down the stairs, hair dishevelled and chest bare. He was carrying the empty plate and glass, walking up to Margaret carefully.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, taking in his pale skin on which the angry red acid burns stood out sharply. The wounds already looked infected and sore, and Margaret could see in Dean's careful and deliberate movements that he had to be in a great deal of pain.

"I've been better," Dean admitted placing the plate and glass in the sink before turning to her again. "Is that a _banshee_ in the yard, or did I dream that?" he asked, sounding slightly worried.

So he knew he wasn't up to a fight in his condition, Margaret realized and grinned. He was a smart boy after all.

"It's a banshee, along with a chimera and a demon. So we better hurry up, before we get any more unbidden guests. Or,…" she threw a meaningful glance at the angry red marks on his chest and arms, "you'll be in too much pain to move or follow my orders during the ritual. Now take this pillow and go into the basement. I have set up the candles and finished the drawings already. Just sit in the middle of the protective circle; I'll be with you in a minute. This needs to cool," she indicated the sickeningly sweet smelling syrup she had been stirring. To her satisfaction Dean did as he had been told.

oooooOooooo

Dean suppressed a wince when he slowly and carefully moved over to where Margaret had told him. The throbbing pain from just a few hours ago had intensified tenfold, turning into white hot agony that took his breath away. Seating himself was torture. By the time Dean was in position, he was sweating profoundly with the effort it had taken not to stumble and disturb any of the items Margaret had set up. When he was finally able to relax a bit, Dean looked around. The room he was in didn't exactly look like a basement. There were carpets decorating the walls and it was warm and clean, even though the floor was bare.

A protective circle had been drawn onto the floor, just like Margaret had said, and candles, crystals and herbs had been placed along the drawing. The air smelled faintly of those herbs, even though Dean could not make out what they were, at the moment. His head was dizzy with pain and he just wished whatever Margaret had planned would work - and quickly.

"Here we go, dear," Margaret said cheerfully, stepping into the room carrying a bowl with the syrupy liquid and a smaller bowl with something that looked a lot like Vicks Vaporub. She set the larger bowl down in front of him, and handed Dean the other one with the words, "Those burns have to hurt like a bitch by now. I've mixed you something that won't interfere with the purification ritual. Here, put some of this ointment on them, it'll help with the pain. You're not allergic to clove, cinnamon or calendula, are you?"

"No, not that I know of," Dean replied, taking the salve form her thankfully. The skin of his upper body and arms felt like it was on fire, every nerve-ending screaming in protest at the slightest move.

"I'm gonna start the ritual while you rub that burns with the slave. I'll need you focussed and following my orders in a few minutes, so please try to be quick about it, even if it hurts. The sooner we get this show started, the sooner you'll get better," she said, beginning to light the candles.

Dean concentrated on applying the ointment as quickly - and carefully - as he could muster. It still hurt like hell and only his long years of practice with being stitched up allowed him to do so without hissing out in pain several times. Sure, Margaret knew this hurt, but his pride got the better of him. Winchesters didn't whine. Immersing himself in his task, Dean was startled by Margaret's "Are you done, boy?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Dean replied, handing her back the bowl with the remains of the salve. The sharp pain was slowly dulling to a constant throb, which wasn't anywhere near as bad as before. Dean was truly grateful for that.

"Good. Now, take a sip from the bowl sitting in front of you," Margaret instructed and Dean complied. The liquid tasted as syrupy sweet as it looked and smelled and Dean had to fight not to gag. He would be so glad when this was over.

The next thirty minutes passed with more drinking from the bowl, repeating chants, Margaret lighting candles in a specific order and burning herbs at the right time. Dean felt better by the minute during the purification ritual, the tingling sensation that was washing over him a welcome change to the pain before.

Well, he felt better until they got to the restoring ritual.

Something about that part didn't feel good at all. In fact, his head began to throb awfully, and his skull felt like it was being split in half. Images were dancing in front of his eyes, voices were ringing in his ears and the room around him began to spin madly. Somewhere in the distance Dean could hear Margaret call out for him before his world turned mercifully black.

oooooOooooo

Margaret stared at the unconscious man before her with stunned disbelieve. This shouldn't have happened. How could the ritual have gone wrong? It was one of the most basic, harmless practices she knew, way more innocuous than the previous purification had been. The ritual really only should mobilize positive energies, unlock self-healing and restoration resources and tab into barely used powers everyone possessed, yet usually was unable to access. It was solely used to help the body heal more quickly and completely. How on earth could such a positive ritual have such devastating effects?

Dean groaned and Margaret hurried over to him, helping him to get into an upright position again. He blinked confusedly at her, hands coming up to grip his obviously hurting head.

"Where am I? Where's Sammy? What the hell..?" Margaret could see anger blooming in Dean's eyes as the young man pushed to his feet, oblivious to anything but the building range inside of him. He suddenly looked different, she noticed. His features had turned hard and his eyes were ablaze with a fury she would not have suspected him capable of. Sure, he was a dangerous man, as all hunters were, for a fact. They had to be in order to do what they did every day. But what Margaret could now see on Dean's face was above everything she had expected. There was so much anger, mixed with hurt and confusion, that she involuntarily took one step back.

"Where is he? I'm gonna kill him. That backstabbing son of a bitch. I'm gonna kick his sorry ass before I'm gonna wring his neck. I'm gonna feed him to a hellhound. I can't believe he did that. He promised. He _swore_ god dammit. Where is he? I'm gonna…" Dean was about to storm past Margaret without really seeing her, when she grabbed his arm tightly.

"Dean. Dean, listen to me. I'm Margaret. Remember? Margaret. We were having a ritual. You were hurt. Dean, do you hear what I say? You need to calm down. Dean!"

His eyes, narrowing at her, were without recognition, his body tense with anger as he snatched his arm back forcefully. "I need to find Sam. He's gonna pay for what he did to me. Where is he? Where did you hide him?"

Moving to stand directly in front of him, Margaret aimed for the right tone, giving her voice a calming quality. "Dean listen, whoever Sam is, he is not here. You are in my house. In the basement. We were having a ritual after you were hurt. Something went wrong and now you're a bit confused. But you have to calm down, alright? Don't make me yell at you, young man. I know you're angry and I know you're hurt, but I'm sure we can sort all of this out somehow. You just need to cool down, alright? Where did you think you were?"

Margaret knew she had gotten through to him the moment he noticeably stiffened and really looked at her for the first time. "I … I dunno," he admitted, hesitantly, gritting his teeth. "There are so many confusing pictures in my head… and voices. Memories I didn't know I had. I thought... I guess I didn't know what I thought. Gods, I need a drink. And then I need to beat the crap out of Sam."

"Come on, boy, what you need is time to sort out your thoughts. And to get some rest later on. Why don't we go upstairs and get a glass of milk and some cookies for you, while you try to calm down? I don't think you're gonna kick anybody's ass tonight. You're upset and confused and you're most probably drained from the ritual. You don't need alcohol to confuse you even more," her look was stern as she turned away from him. "Alright, let's try and sort this mess out. Come on!" she didn't wait for his answer, instead she made her way up the stairs, sure he would follow.

oooooOooooo

Dean sat at the kitchen table, staring into the distance with unseeing eyes. He was confused, angry and hurt. Worst of all was the overwhelming feeling of _betrayal_ though. Sam, his brother, the man he trusted with his life, the person he loved most in this world, had betrayed and manipulated him. He had sworn that he'd never mess with his head in this way again - and he had lied. He also had lied about the night with the yellow-eyed-demon. And it hurt, it hurt something awful. The ultimate betrayal of the trust Dean had set in Sam.

Rage was burning in Dean's chest, anger so great he had to control himself not to get up and punch something. He longed to go out, find Sam and show him exactly _how_ badly he had messed up. But Margaret was right. He needed rest, even though Dean couldn't imagine how he was supposed to _ever_ get to rest again. There were memories inside his head, old ones, forgotten ones, the memories Sam had taken from him. They were there along with the new ones Sam had created for him. It was all there in crystal clarity. The way Sam had pretended to join the yellow-eyed-demon, the taunting, the guilt, the shame. The way Dean had yelled at Sam and punched him, up to the point where Sam had come up to him and had taken away his memories. Because it was easier for Sam. Because Sam didn't want to deal with the consequences of his actions and had found a way to change reality to his liking. Because obviously Sam now decided what Dean was allowed to know and remember, and what not.

That lying son of a bitch. "Running a fever, my ass," Dean swore, his hands balling to fists in his lap. He felt like wringing Sam's neck, felt like punching Sam's face until he admitted what he had done. He felt like never talking to his brother again, afraid that Sam would manipulate him again. He didn't know how he was supposed to ever look his brother in the eyes again without wondering if his memories were real. Dean just didn't know. He had trusted Sam with his life, had believed to be safe with him, only to discover that Sam had betrayed him in the worst possible way.

Dean didn't care what motivation Sam could possibly have had, and he didn't want to hear any kind of explanation. Because in all honesty, there _was_ no excuse for what Sam had done. Trust was about the only thing that had kept them alive all these years. Trust that Sam would have his back, trust that no matter how bad things were, Sam wouldn't let him down. If Dean was honest with himself, Sam was about the only person he had trusted like this, in his whole life. There were precious few people Dean trusted, to begin with, but he'd trusted none of them _completely_. The way he had trusted Sam. With all he had and all he was. Having this trust betrayed made him feel vulnerable and lost. Robbed of an essential part of his life. And it hurt worse than any physical wound ever could.

'He didn't care,' the thought came unbidden and sudden, making Dean swallow painfully around the lump in his throat. 'Sam didn't care that he broke his word. That he deliberately violated me.' For a brief moment Dean wished Sam were possessed or maybe under some sort of influence. That at least Dean could have dealt with; exorcised it, or whatever he'd had to do in order to get _his_ Sam back. It would have meant his brother hadn't willingly hurt him, hadn't been responsible for his actions, hadn't done it knowing full well what it would do to Dean. But he hadn't been possessed. Not on that field with the yellow-eyed-demon and not in Youngstown. The night Dean barely could remember. Up until now Dean had believe he had only dreamed of Sammy that night. He'd had no idea his brother had been really there, messing with his head. Dean almost wished he had really been killed at that bar fight. Surely being dead was preferable to he anguish he felt right now. Not even the rage in his chest could dull the pain Sam's betrayal caused.

"I'm really all alone now," Dean murmured not caring that he sounded as lost and alone as he felt.

oooooOooooo

"Bobby, I think you should come over here. The Winchester boy, something is wrong with him," Margaret said without much preamble. She had decided to call her old friend and see if he could be of any help. If not with Dean himself, then maybe with the creatures in her yard. It didn't seem as if Dean would be able to get rid of them on his own any time soon.

"What do you mean, _wrong_?" Bobby asked, concern audible in his voice. "What happened? Is Dean hurt?"

"Well, he had a little accident on the hunt and got contaminated with some pretty dark magic. Nothing I couldn't deal with, really. But, he reacted very badly to one of the rituals I was doing; he even passed out. Since he woke up he's agitated and angry, ranting and raving and going on about having been manipulated. He's convinced something has been done to him and I tend to agree. I just don't know what," Margaret tried to explain, hoping Bobby would just come over and help her sort this mess out. The rage she could see in Dean, but also the pain that went along with it, had her worried. "Bobby, I really think this boy has been through some tough shit. And I don't mean simple hunting problems. Please, you've known him all his life, come here and help me set this straight."

"Sure, I'll be there by tomorrow morning," Bobby answered and Margaret released a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding.

Grateful that Bobby didn't ask any more questions, she added, "Oh and you might want to bring the necessary items to hunt a chimera. It seems I happen to have one in my garden. Along with a banshee and a demon," she said.

"A chimera, a banshee _and_ a demon? What did you do, take out an ad to a newspaper?" Bobby growled. "Maybe I should call Dean's brother… he might be able to help - with more than just the hunt. I have a feeling that he could shed some light into this."

"His name isn't by any chance 'Sam' is it?" Margaret asked, guessing the answer already.

"Yeah, that's him alright. Why?" Bobby sounded more than just a little curious.

"Oh, just a wild guess," Margaret smirked. "I sure hope he can hold his own, because once Dean gets his hands on him, things will get nasty. He insists someone called _Sam_ did something to him."

"Shit, I knew something was wrong with Dean. I just couldn't figure out, what - and Sam wouldn't tell." Bobby cursed. "I'm gonna take care of that, don't worry. I'll make sure Sam and I are at your place first thing tomorrow. Until then, keep Dean from doing something foolish, alright? Like going on a hunt while he's emotionally hurting and not up to it. I'd hate to see him getting himself killed. I'll bring Sam and then we can sort this thing out whatever it is. If I know one thing for sure it's that Dean loves his brother. He's protected Sam all of his life, hell, I'd bet he'd die for him. I'm sure whatever it is, it can be solved with a few punches, some yelling and a lot of talking."

"I sure hope you're right, Bobby," Margaret replied, sounding sceptical to even her own ears. She had a feeling that whatever had happened between the brothers, it had caused more damage than Bobby could imagine. Dean didn't strike her as a person who broke easily, but the man sitting in her kitchen right now was about to shatter. And she wasn't so sure anyone would be able to put the pieces back together if that happened. "See you tomorrow."

oooooOooooo

"Oh shit," the phone slipped out of Sam's suddenly numb fingers, hitting the floor with an unpleasant sound. Panic settled into Sam's stomach, knowing the day he had wished would never come was finally upon him. Dean had regained his memories. It was a worst case scenario.

"Sam, baby, what's the matter? Bad news?" Sam felt Victoria's arms come around him from behind, her body pressing close to his. He couldn't deal with her now, couldn't deal with the questions. Questions she never voiced but that were always there - in her eyes, in her body language.

"Yeah, bad news. It's about Dean. He's in trouble. I can't talk right now, I have to go. Bobby will pick me up in two hours and I have to get ready. I don't know when I'll be back," Sam said, hoping she would be satisfied with the answer.

He knew she wasn't when a wave of anger, jealousy and impatience hit him full force. Empathy sometimes really sucked.

"Dean? This is about Dean again? What has he done now? Isn't it enough that you talk on the phone two or three times a week? Does he now need his little brother to solve his problems? You said he's in trouble, so I get it he's not _hurt_ or else you'd have said so. What is so terribly important that you need to rush to him? Why is it always _you_ who has to go see him? He's not been here _once_.If he has a problem, he could come to you. Do you think it's fun to have you disappear on me every few months, never knowing when or if you'll come back? What the hell are you hiding from me? I'm sick and tired of your games," Sam could see her face turn red as her anger rose.

"Jess, I …." Sam caught his slip a moment too late. Jessica had been famous for her jealous fits, yelling at him the same way Victoria had just done, only that the topic never had been Dean. It didn't matter now, because he just had called Victoria by the name of his dead ex-girlfriend. Time for damage control. _"Victoria…"_

"That's it. I've had it." She turned around, stomping away. At the door, she came to halt, looking back at him, saying, "You know what? You go on your road trip. Help your brother or do whatever you do. See if I care. Maybe we've been too hasty with moving in together. I'll go look for an apartment. We can talk when you get back. I think I deserve some answers." With that, she stepped through the door and was gone.

"Fuck!" Sam cursed, leaning down to pick up the telephone from the floor. "How do I always manage to mess up like this?"

oooooOooooo

Sam was scared. Of course he'd never admit that out loud - especially not to Dean - but he really was scared shitless right now. Not of what Dean would do to him, no that wasn't the problem at all. Sam knew for certain that Dean would _never_ seriously hurt him. A few punches, yes. A few broken ribs were a possibility as well, since - let's face the facts - this time Sam really had messed up. But nothing permanent, nothing really bad anyway.

No, Sam was afraid of Dean's _emotional_ reaction to him. The thought alone that Dean could look at him with hatred or disgust in his eyes made Sam's stomach turn. He loved Dean, more than anyone else in this word. Yes, even more than the woman he was living with and had considered to propose to. But Victoria was another problem entirely.

Dean. Sam's heart clenched painfully at the thought of his brother. He knew he'd hurt Dean, worse than he had ever hurt him before. Even his leaving to Stanford had paled in comparison to what Sam had done. And he knew it. He could judge the magnitude of the wrong he had done to Dean all too well. It was disastrous. Possibly irredeemable. And it scared the living daylights out of Sam.

The possibility that Dean wouldn't forgive him, wouldn't let him explain, wouldn't let him try to make things better, made Sam nauseous. He just _had_ to listen to Sam's explanation, had to give Sam a chance to at least make him understand, if he couldn't forgive. But somewhere deep inside himself Sam knew that chance was slim. In fact, it was more likely Dean would beat the crap out of him before telling Sam what a worthless brother he was. Sam knew Dean might not even talk to him at all.

Despair was taking over Sam's heart and soul, the impending confrontation hanging like a black cloud above his head. 'I've brought this onto myself,' Sam thought miserably. While his decision to alter Dean's memories at that night with the yellow-eyed-demon had been born out of a totally irrational fear, for the night in Youngstown he had no such excuse. That night, he had full well known that what he was doing would have dire consequences if Dean ever found out. But he had taken that risk, thinking that _talking_ wouldn't be enough to pull Dean back from the brink. He would have had to stay with Dean for a while at least to make sure Dean was alright. But his brother would have never allowed that and Sam hadn't really wanted to go back to hunting. So altering Dean's memories seemed to be the best idea, if Sam didn't want to have to bury Dean soon. Only that his brother was never supposed to know about what Sam had done. 'No use crying over spilt milk now,' Sam thought bitterly and rubbed his hands over his face tiredly.

He was exhausted, but it was an emotional exhaustion that had nothing to do with the Banshee he had killed earlier, while Bobby had taken care of the chimera. Thankfully the demon had turned tail and had run. That meant Bobby or Dean would have to hunt it down later on, but Sam way grateful anyway. He wasn't so sure he could have gone through an exorcism successfully, not with the knowledge that he would have to face Dean soon. And distraction could mean death, Sam knew that.

Sam's hand closed tightly around the amulet in the pocket of his jeans. He hoped he would be able to give it to Dean, to show how sincerely sorry he was. It would give Dean a means to protect himself from any kind of psychic manipulation; including the one Sam had done to him. It had taken Sam a great deal of time and patience to find this specific amulet, since there were very few still in existence. It was supposed to be a peace offering as much as a sign that Sam truly understood that he had lost Dean's trust.

If only his trust was all Sam had lost. It would be bad enough and would change their relationship forever, but maybe, just maybe trust could be regained. The thought that Dean would stop _loving_ him though, was unbearable for Sam. Dean's love was the most precious thing Sam had; he'd do everything to make sure he didn't lose it.

_Had done_ everything, since his fear of losing Dean's love had ironically been the reason for Sam to take away Dean's memories that night with the yellow-eyed-demon. Sam realized that with doing that, with manipulating Dean the way he had, he might as well have _caused_ the very thing he had been trying to avoid.

Sam looked at his watch for what felt like the thousandth time since they had been sent into the kitchen by Margaret, to wait for Dean. The suspense was grating on his nerves, but there was nothing that could be done about it. His brother was still asleep, knocked out by painkillers and sleeping pills Margaret had talked him into taking. She had told Bobby and Sam that Dean hadn't slept all night and in the morning she had convinced him to take the pills. She told him that he needed to be rested and fit if he wanted to get rid of those creatures in her yard and then go after Sam. Dean had reluctantly agreed, knowing drug induced sleep was better than no sleep at all.

So now they were waiting.

Margaret had left them alone, saying they needed to sort this out without her watching. Bobby was on a chair by the kitchen table while Sam himself was standing near the door, too riled to sit down. The other man had not spoken much after the lecture he had given Sam on the ride to Margaret's house. Something about trust and not stabbing your own brother in the back. Sam knew he deserved every single of the harsh words Bobby had said to him The rant had been quite accurate in fact, despite the fact that Bobby didn't know any details of what exactly Sam had done to Dean. Only that he had manipulated Dean somehow, breaking a vow and betraying Dean's trust.

What more was there to say?

The sound of a door opening somewhere on the top floor startled Sam out of his thoughts. Dean was awake - time to face the music.

oooooOooooo

Dean saw Sam standing beside the door the moment he walked in. Rage welled up in his chest at the look of his brother. In an instant, he was in Sam's face hissing "son of a bitch" before punching Sam's jaw hard - twice.

Through his anger Dean could feel arms come around him, before Bobby dragged him back, away from Sam. His brother looked guilty as hell, rubbing blood from his split lip, murmuring, "I deserved that."

"Damn right, you do!" Dean yelled, trying to struggle free from the grip Bobby still had on him. That he couldn't manage spoke volumes about how weak his healing body still was. "How could you? How dare you do this to me? You promised. You _swore_ damn it! I thought I could trust you. I thought you'd…." Dean broke off, the feeling of betrayal drowning the burning rage in his chest. He relaxed, stopped fighting Bobby's grip, instead he took two steps back.

"Dean, I …" his brother started, but Dean snapped at him.

"No! Shut up Sam! I don't wanna hear it!"

It was true. He didn't want to hear it. Because there really was nothing Sam could do or say to make this better. Nothing at all.

"Boys, I think I'm gonna leave you to it. So you can talk it through. I'm gonna…"

"No!" Dean whirled around to Bobby, grabbing his arm to hold him back. "No, you stay right where you are. If he gets a chance to touch me, he might mess with my head again, alter my memories. And I won't remember afterwards. All it takes is one quick touch of his hand, I know it, it's happened before." Dean sighed, "I'm in no condition to keep him from touching me, from violating me again."

Out of the corner of his eyes Dean could see Sam flinch at his words. But for once, Dean didn't care if he hurt his brother. It was the truth after all. Sam _had_ violated him in a way no-one else could have done.

"I wouldn't do that, Dean. I'm…"

"I told you to shut up, Sam!" Dean yelled at him, anger and hurt mingling in his voice.

"Please, Dean if you'd just let me explain…" Sam had the audacity to take a step in their direction, causing Dean to move another step back.

"Stay where you are or I swear I'll put a load of rocksalt into your chest. Don't you dare come near me again. I don't wanna hear what you have to say," Dean spat. "I don't wanna listen to your pretty little lies. I don't wanna know how you think you can justify what you've done. There _is_ no justification for this. You gave me your word, Sam. You swore to me you'd never do it again." Pain welled up in Dean, pushing away the anger. It hurt to say these things. The words were like ash in his mouth and he swallowed painfully, voice faltering as the burning in his throat got worse.

When he looked at his brother again, Dean knew there were tears in his eyes, but he didn't care. "I believed you, Sam. I trusted you. In a way I've never trusted in my life. I can't … there is no way to make this right again. I just…" his voice broke and he had to swallow, choking back a sob.

"I want you to leave. I want you to stay out of my life. Don't call me, don't try to see me or contact me in any way. I'm sure Bobby will keep you updated if you want to know if I'm still alive. I'm done with you." Dean turned his back on Sam deliberately, shoulders slumping, unable to stand the sight of his brother any longer. Sam had looked like he'd been hit again.

Beside him, Bobby suddenly stirred, "Boys, I'm…"

"No Bobby, I've made my decision. Just take him and leave. There is nothing more to talk about," with that, Dean sprinted up the stairs, not caring if he left the two men standing alone in the kitchen. He needed to get away from Sam, away from the pain that was burning in his chest so fiercely. He was eternally grateful that Margaret had allowed him to stay in her guest room for a few days longer. Dean somehow knew he would need it.

Feeling like his clothes were suddenly suffocating him, Dean pulled off his shirt frantically. The shoes and jeans followed next, before he collapsed on the bed. Curling into a tight ball, Dean sobbed helplessly, finally allowing his tears to fall.

For the first time since he had been a kid, Dean Winchester cried himself to sleep.


End file.
